


Faded Paper Lanterns

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail





	Faded Paper Lanterns

The paper lanterns strung along the edges of the shelter swung gently in the light evening breeze, their pastel lights mirroring the tiny glow of the myriad of fireflies who had appeared as the sky darkened. Their minute lights danced and flickered across the park like so many tiny points of stardust, floating through the air with reckless abandon. Thoughtfully tucking an errant strand of long coppery hair behind one ear, Orihime let her gray eyes slip closed with a soft sigh and a faint smile. To have a night like this, after all they had been through, was a blessing in and of itself. 

And ironic, in a way, that said night would be the very eve of the festival commemorating the princess from whom she took her name. Closing her eyes tighter as the breeze strengthened, sending longish copper bangs rustling across her forehead in a staccato beat of flaxen against skin, she let the wind's gentle fingers take her mind and carry it away with them. Away from here, away from reality.

Reality right now... wasn't this. It wasn't the playful gathering of friends and comrades gamboling about the field around the rented wooden picnic shelter. It wasn't Kurosaki-kun having a shouting argument with Kuchiki-san at the edge of the small pond, or Rangiku-san subjecting an irate Hitsugaya-taichou to her bubbly personality as she insisted on sampling all the food that everyone had brought. It wasn't even Tatsuki-chan as she laughingly beat the boys in a footrace, pretty red-patterned yukata notwithstanding. Reality wasn't the gentle light of the lanterns, the soft music playing from Hirako-san's antique record-player, or the sweet tang of watermelon-flavoured icecream that Yuzu-chan had provided.

The true reality was the coldness of the war they'd fought, the war they were still fighting even now. It showed in the haggard cast of everyone's face, disguised as it was for the most part by laughter and cheer. The reality was in Kurosaki-kun's eyes when he thought no one was looking, as he watched his gathered friends cavort without hardly a care in the world. It was in the guarded way their shinigami friends enjoyed themselves, as though they couldn't escape the knowledge that this moment was, in reality, stolen. And it was in the coiled anticipation of Hirako-san and the others of his group, the Vaizard all tensed and waiting, as though for the final advent of something they'd waited years for. And for all she knew, maybe they had.

Tucking her bangs back yet again, the girl caught her lower lip between her teeth as one fingertip grazed the warm -- they were never cold, not anymore -- metal edge of her hairpin, the shun-shun rikka's reiatsu flaring faintly at her touch, ready to spring to action at her whim. They were the cause of so much of this; she was the cause of it. They should hate her, by all rights. Hate her, despise her for what she'd done, for her foolish thought that one such as her could sacrifice herself to destroy the Hougyoku and foil Aizen's plans.

It had been a foolish goal, a foolish aim and while she had remained locked in the cage, a gilded bird watching helplessly, her friends had paid the price for it. Feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, she shook her head slightly as though to clear them, fingertips lowering to smooth the fabric of her pale green yukata, the golden threads of the dragonfly print glinting slightly in the lantern's glow. No. That was reality, that was the harshness of the truth and the world around her, the world she'd become mired in. Tonight wasn't about that.

"Inoue-san?"

Blinking back unshed tears in startlment, the girl raised her head to meet Ishida's questioning gaze. The Quincy stood in front of her, holding two cups of the pink-tinged confection. Cocking his head to the side, he repeated her name as though to make certain she had hear him the first time, extending his arm with one of the icecreams to her.

"Inoue-san? Are you alright?"

Without volition, her eyes flickered to his hand, the sudden rush of bile in her throat a bitter reminder of recent events. Ishida-kun... his hand.... He'd lost it because of her. Because she'd been so weak, so afraid. Because she'd screamed out to Kurosaki-kun to help her, to save her. To save them. Everyone. And, as he always did, the orange-haired shinigami had done so. But this time, it had been at a terrible cost. Even now, she could see it, the crimson scarlet drip of blood as it poured in cascading torrents from the stump of what had been Ishida-kun's hand, the way he gritted his teeth against the pain, his other arm gripping her tightly to him as she desperately tried to shield them both. She didn't even realize she had closed her eyes tightly until she felt the Quincy's gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. 

Her eyes snapped open with a gasp as she turned to regard his slim figure, seated on the bench beside her in his white and blue patterned yukata. Swallowing back the sudden nausea, she stared down at her clenched hands where they were fisted in the leaf-hued cotton on her lap, studying the shaking limbs as though they were someone else's.

"Inoue-san....? You're shaking."

Cutting her eyes sidelong at him, she watched the concern in his dark blue eyes, the tell-tale sign that had he thought it needed, he would have likely scooped her up and taken her somewhere to ensure that she was well. Forcing back her thoughts, she managed to pull her mouth into a weak smile that she directed at him with a shake of her head.

"G...Gomen, Ishida-kun. I just got suddenly dizzy for a moment, but I'm alright now. Thank you for the icecream."

He seemed somewhat satisfied at that, though the concern didn't leave his eyes as he handed her the cup and watched her eat for a moment before raising his own spoon to his lips to sample the treat. They sat that way in silence for what seemed like an eternity, the swaying lanterns playing shadows across their faces as the icecream dwindled. Swallowing hard, she set the cup down in her lap, it's blue plasticine smoothness cradled by her cupped hands, the last remnants of watermelon-flavoured dessert melting into a small pool in the bottom of the vessel. Orihime watched for a long moment as a lone firefly alighted on the edge of the bowl, the lantern-like patches on it's abdomen reflecting through the dish as it made it's way along the rim, wings fluttering before it took wing yet again to glide gracefully across the evening sky.

"I...Ishida-kun..."

Gritting her teeth at her own cowardice, she felt fingertips tighten against the bowl as she squared her shoulders against her own nerves, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She owed him an apology, owed him so much more than that. He'd gone to Hueco Mundo like the rest of them, because of her. Kurosaki-kun she knew would never accept anything remotely like an apology, and Kuchiki-san was just as likely to bop her on the head and scold her for even thinking she should do as much. In a way, Kuchiki-san could be a lot like Tatsuki-chan at times. And they'd had reason -- besides her -- to fight. They were shinigami, as were Renji-san and the others. Even if she wanted to be selfish, she could always justify that the only people who really had any part to play in this war were those of Seireitei. Only... she couldn't be that selfish. And beyond that, she knew in her heart it wasn't true. They all had a part to play in the great production that their world had become, and even knowing that unfortunately did little to help the guilt.

"Ishida-kun, I.... I'm so sorry about your hand!"

The last words came out in a half-sobbed rush as she bent her head over the empty bowl, catching her lower lip between her teeth as her voice cracked. Clenching her eyes tightly shut, she waited for the rebuke, for the anger that she was certain was her due -- after all, he'd lost his hand, and because of her, and it didn't matter that she'd healed it -- shoulders shaking as the silence continued to drag.

"It wasn't your fault, Inoue-san."

His words were soft, without rebuke or blame, and she whirled to face him, the tears threatening to overflow her lids as she shook her head. He couldn't mean that, couldn't really think that. It was her fault, all of it, so why wasn't he angry with her? Why didn't he hate her like he should?

"But...But if it hadn't been for me, then you wouldn't have been hurt! And Kurosaki-kun, and Kuchiki-san, and.. "

"I would have fought to protect you regardless of the situation, Inoue-san."

His quiet, straightforward statement caught her by surprise and for a long moment she simply stared at his white-clad shape, hazy through tears, the glow of the lanterns casting firelight shine off of his dark hair and sending sparkles across the clear surface of the lenses of his glasses. Mesmerized, she watched as he raised one hand slowly towards her face, the curve of his knuckle stroking against her cheek and catching the crystalline drops of her tears. Over his shoulder, she could see the faint shapes of her friends as they meandered around, some dancing to the music, others simply sitting and talking, taking in the night air. Blinking, still somewhat in shock, she felt her eyelids slip closed as Ishida leaned in to press his lips against hers with feather-light softness.

The moment dragged on, surreal amidst the fluttering lights and the muted strains of music wafting from the other end of the camp, and then he was pulling away, his hand still cradling her cheek gently as he looked at her with a questioning note in his eyes. She could feel her cheeks heat up, and something within her fluttered with the same nervous quivering as the blinking lights floating softly on the updrafts. He swallowed, a faint flush on his cheeks as he nervously pushed the bridge of his glasses a tad further up his nose with one finger.

"I..Inoue-san. I.."

Slowly turning to fix luminous gray eyes on his, her vision was caught by a glimpse of their friends, seated to watch the lights reflecting off of the water's surface. Something stuck in her throat as Ichigo sidled just a hare closer to Rukia and before she could stop herself, she'd turned her head away, shaking it slightly as if in apology.

"Gomen.... Ishida-kun...."

She stared down at her lap, at her clenched hands as she registered his surprise and -- though she couldn't see -- disappointment before he simply nodded and murmured an apology before standing up and walking away. Staring down at the gold-patterned dragonflies soaring their graceful way across her lap, she watched as their crisp forms grew hazy, the colours bleeding together with the moisture in her eyes. It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair to anyone at all, that she should be so torn. So tempted and yet frightened by a shining possibility dangled in front of her eyes, that she should feel so trapped by an old hope that even she could see was slowly dying. That was what a brave person would say, what a wise person would do. Let go of the old, of the past, and run without stopping towards the light that beckoned through the darkness of the unknown. And maybe one day she'd be able to do that. One day, if she became a braver person.


End file.
